


One of These Days (Again and Again)

by authoressjean



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Gen, Groundhog Day, Humor, M/M, Multiple Deaths, and by that i mean everyone dies a lot, everybody dies and everybody lives, yes i added a humor tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-16
Updated: 2016-04-20
Packaged: 2018-06-02 14:57:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6570637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/authoressjean/pseuds/authoressjean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Right,” Fili said. “We need to all stay alive, then. That shouldn’t be too hard.”</p>
<p>“You try it,” Bilbo muttered. “See how well you do.”</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>By a curse or a blessing from the Valar, Bilbo finds himself repeating the same horrific day of war outside of Erebor again and again. His repeats are always triggered when someone from the company falls. He suffers days and days on his own before the others begin to repeat the day with him.</p>
<p>One would think that with the whole company, an elf king, and a bowman all knowing what was to come, Bilbo would have an easier time getting them all through the day alive.</p>
<p>One would think that, wouldn't they.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi y'all. Good to see everyone, good to be back. (Of a sort.)
> 
> You can get the whole sordid update on my life at my tumblr, dancingacrossthekeys, if you feel so inclined, along with any of my random nonsense I reblog.
> 
> This little nut of an idea wouldn't leave me alone, so I figured that I would just write it out. Get it out of my system, as it were.
> 
> Over 13,000 words later and honestly, what did you all expect? I can't write anything short to save my life.
> 
> Points to my two lovely ladies, Dani and Abrza, for not being sympathetic to my plot bunny plight in the slightest and instead encouraging me to write it. Damn you two. Thank you.

“Death to the Durins!” Azog screamed. Orcs went everywhere. Fili raced up the hill to defend his uncle, his brother running right behind him. Bilbo desperately tried to get to any of the others, even as he watched the line of Durin face what was sure to be their end, because it couldn’t end like this, he refused, he wouldn’t let it-

And then, it didn’t.

~

The first time it happened, Bilbo was quite certain that it was simply a bad dream, that he’d been hit in the head. Even if things did happen exactly the same way that they had the first time. It wasn’t possible, things like this just didn’t _happen_.

The second time it happened, Bilbo was still so absolutely confused that he made small differences just because he was completely bewildered and couldn’t answer. Thorin threatening to throw him over the wall still wasn’t enough to shake him from his shock because, well, it had happened already. Three times now, he was counting.

The third time it happened, he realized that whether he was losing his mind or not, it didn’t matter. What mattered was that each time he found himself out on the battlefield, someone died. Someone he cared about was always cut down, and he’d had to watch it four times now.

The first day it had been Fili, cut down by Azog in defense of his brother. The second day, it had been sweet Ori, taking an orc arrow to the neck. This time, he reasoned with himself, he was going to take the opportunity that the Valar had presented him and he was going to do it right. By Eru he was going to get them all out of the horrible battle they’d found themselves in.

Then Thorin fell, and watching him stumble to the ground was more than his heart could take.

The fourth time he woke up standing in Erebor, watching Thranduil and Bard argue with Thorin, he acknowledged that maybe, just maybe, it might not be that easy.

~

It always came back to that horrible moment in Erebor. The moment Bilbo had dreaded all night long, had barely even slept over, the one that had left him with sweaty palms and a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Now, having done it…six times, by his count, it was quickly losing its strength. Mostly because the hard part wasn’t here, he was going to be banished, there was no changing Thorin’s mind, but the battle, that was where lives came on the line.

(The heartbreak still started in the hollowness of Erebor though. Every time Thorin called him a traitor and came after him with those glazed over eyes that saw nothing but gold, Bilbo’s heart broke a little bit more. Because he was losing Thorin, whether it was on the battlefield or to the gold, it didn’t matter, Thorin wasn’t his, maybe never had been-)

Bard displayed the Arkenstone. Thorin’s eyes went wide. The accusations began.

Bilbo kept his mouth shut this time, wondering if perhaps, perhaps, if he didn’t offer himself forward, maybe something else would change. Perhaps it would make a difference, perhaps Bilbo could stay and convince Thorin to keep off of the battlefield, to stay inside and watch his gold or something.

And no it had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that the last two deaths in a row had been Thorin. And both of them had been bloody, and both of them had left him grieving, even though his grief had been short lived before the day repeated. Again.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t going to find out if keeping Thorin inside was an option. Thranduil glanced to the side, and Thorin followed his gaze all the way to Bilbo. “You?” he whispered, and his eyes caught that dangerous gleam again.

Bilbo swallowed hard. “I-yes. I did.”

“And you would _lie_ to me about it?” Thorin bellowed. “You thought you could get away with your foul deed as you betrayed me?!”

Well, now he knew what happened if he didn’t tell Thorin first. He didn’t get the chance to try and convince Thorin to stay inside. He wound up leaving the mountain as he did every time.

And when Thorin took Azog’s blade to his chest, it was still as hard to watch as all the times before.

~

When Dwalin died, Bilbo had choked back a scream. He’d managed to keep it to himself when he’d found himself back inside Erebor, Thranduil and Bard haggling with a gold-crazed Thorin once more.

When Kili died, he’d shut his eyes tight and hadn’t opened them until Thorin had called him out for stealing the Arkenstone.

When Bofur died, he’d dug bloody grooves into his palms, wondering why it couldn’t be him, it should be him, why was it always someone from the company.

When Thorin died, he’d finally let his tears fall, and everyone had been left bewildered that he’d started to cry before Thorin had found him out as the traitor.

~

He’d tried to change things in Erebor. That hadn’t worked. So he’d focused his attentions on the battlefield.

He’d stopped looking to Erebor. Erebor wasn’t where people started getting into trouble. No, it was that blasted hill that Thorin and the others had charged so recklessly, the one near the rocky crags and the ruins that were left of Dale.

He’d tried to keep Thorin from heading up the hill, tried to warn him about the trap. But Bolg always came around, Fili and Kili would get themselves into trouble, and then somehow, somewhere, someone got killed. He was so tired of Azog’s cry of, “Death to the Durins!” that he could weep.

He thought he’d made it, for a moment. Bilbo kept Fili and Kili successfully from climbing up and around and being trapped by Azog. The company was unharmed and in sight, and he thought that maybe, _maybe_ , he had a chance to get it right. Thorin was there and looking at him with such relief that Bilbo was distracted for just a moment. Just one moment.

Then Bard fell from an orc spear, because Bilbo hadn’t been watching for him, he’d been watching for the company, and Bilbo suddenly found himself back inside Erebor once more.

That was about the time that Bilbo sort of…snapped.

~

The hobbit was acting strange. Increasingly strange with every moment that passed. 

Bard could understand why, of course. He’d all but been tossed out on his ear from the ones he’d called friends, he had nothing on his person and nowhere to go, and he was about to be embroiled in an all-out war. These were none of the things that a hobbit, a Child of the Kindly West, ought to be seeing and living. Bard would have understood if the hobbit had been weeping in a corner or trying to stand on wobbly legs with his sword held shaking before him.

He wasn’t doing any of those things. He seemed more like he was on a mission, and as he darted around various orcs and neatly avoided weapons of all sorts, it was as if he’d figured it all out and was simply waiting for everyone to catch up.

Never mind the slight twitching that his eye had taken up. Or the tapping of his foot and his constant shouting at Bard to keep up, he was going to get speared at the rate he was moving.

“I have a duty to my men, Master Baggins,” Bard told him at last. “I cannot abandon them.”

Bilbo glared at him. “You don’t owe them a thing you need to be coming with _me_. I can, I can keep you safe. Yes, keep you safe, at least _someone_ safe.”

Ah. Guilt, then. That, Bard could understand. “Perhaps your king will come to his senses,” he tried. An orc gave a cry and ran towards him, but was cut down by the hobbit before Bard could even raise his own weapon. He blinked. Bilbo seemed nonplussed.

“It’s not about…about Thorin,” and _there_ was the heartbreak Bard had been expecting. Bilbo looked up towards the hill before them, near the jagged rocks, and Bard didn’t understand. It was as if he were waiting for something.

Then he shook himself and turned back to Bard. “All right, it’s something to do with him, but if I don’t get you to safety, then I can’t ever move on, now can I?”

Bard frowned. This wasn’t exactly a conversation he ought to be having in the middle of a battle but the hobbit was leaving him more confused by the minute. “Move on? What do you mean, move on?” Perhaps he meant romantically. Perhaps he and the dwarf king had meant something to each other before the gold had taken hold of Thorin’s senses. That would explain the heartache and perhaps the hobbit’s strangeness. People acted in strange ways when they were in love.

“I can’t move on from today,” Bilbo said again, confirming his suspicions, but then he kept going and Bard was left staring. “I keep living this day again and again, don’t you understand? I’ve done this day thirty-two times and I’m never going to be rid of it if I can’t keep you lot _alive_ , and I’m going to miss keeping Bofur safe if you don’t start moving! Let’s _go_!”

He reached forward and grabbed Bard’s hand before tugging hard. Bard went, still trying to process what the hobbit had told him, and nearly missed the orc coming behind him. Bilbo dispatched of it quickly enough and then kept moving as if he hadn’t cut down an orc nearly twice his size. “Let’s go!” Bilbo said again, impatiently this time. His eyes were starting to take on the same glazed look as Thorin’s, except for a completely different reason.

The hobbit had gone mad. The banishment and the heartache had been too much for him, Bard supposed. There was no other reason for it because he couldn’t honestly be, what, repeating the day over and over again like some twisted punishment from the Valar themselves. It wasn’t possible.

They were nearly to the rocky hills alongside Dale when Bilbo called out, “Thorin are you here? Fili! Kili! Dwalin!”

The dwarves weren’t there. “ _Damn_ them, where are they?” Bilbo cursed. “They’re supposed to be here already!”

“Look out!” someone shouted, and when Bard turned, the portly dwarf was being cut down. There was nothing to be done at that point, it was already over, but Bard still started moving towards him.

“Bombur _no_!” Bilbo screamed, and Bard began to run towards the dwarf to defend his body, to see if he actually could still live, to do something-

And then he was quickly coming to a halt in Erebor’s throne room. He blinked.

“We only ask for what is rightfully ours,” Thranduil said, much as he had that morning. He was still wearing his royal robes, not his battle gear. Bard stared around in shock, quickly moving his eyes over the dwarves. There, there was the one Bilbo had named Bombur, except he was standing by other dwarves, looking uncomfortable about the whole proceedings.

Alive. Not wearing an orc blade for an ornament. 

Bard’s eyes immediately went to Bilbo, tucked off to the side behind Thorin. Bilbo was grinding his fists into his eyes, and when he looked up, he looked resigned. He looked just as he had only a few moments before when they’d been in the heat of battle.

“What?” Bard said, and all eyes turned to him.

“What _what_?” Thorin growled. “Are you confused as to my answer, as constant as it has been?”

“You’ve already spoken to us,” Bard said, blinking. “We, we had this conversation just this morning.”

“It is morning,” Thranduil said irritably. “Have you hit your head?”

Bard glanced at everyone else but there wasn’t a single hint of recognition. Not until he got to Bilbo, whose eyes were getting wider and wider. The mad edge was starting to fade, and in its place was something Bard hadn’t seen in…well. Two days now.

Hope. A small flicker of hope.

“We were in battle,” Bard said, and Bilbo actually _smiled_. It was a wide and manic sort of thing, but he was honestly smiling. “You even told me as much.”

“I did,” Bilbo said, and all eyes moved to him instead. “I did, ha! And you remember! No one’s ever remembered before! Though,” he added, frowning a bit. “I’m not entirely sure I ever tried to tell them.”

“And you’ve done this how many times?” Bard demanded, because he’d only been in this room, doing this moment, twice now. But Bilbo had said-

“Thirty-three, now,” Bilbo told him. “But oh, _oh_ Bard. You _remembered_.” And he looked as if he were going to cry now.

“Remembered what?” the younger Durin said. Fili, his mind supplied, with his brother Kili beside him.

“Enough of this nonsense!” Thorin shouted. “What have you brought to me, that you think will change my mind? You say you have something of mine – what is it?”

Thranduil smirked and turned to Bard, and Bard paused. The Arkenstone was wrapped in his bag, but now, looking at Bilbo, it was almost cruel to bring it forth. The hobbit had suffered this scene thirty-three times, and from the look on his face, he knew what was to come.

That meant he’d been banished and cast from the dwarf he so obviously cared for over thirty times. And Bard didn’t have the heart to make him suffer it again.

“A rock,” Bard said, and Bilbo frowned. “A stone that the dwarves placed in Dale to show our treaty with one another. You helped build Dale once, I would ask that you do so again.” His hands didn’t move to the bag at his side.

Bilbo let out a helpless laugh, and he shook his head. “That’s the first bit of kindness I’ve had in thirty-three days,” he said. His eyes shimmered with tears anew. “But please, there’s no use. This always ends the same, there’s nothing I can do to change this bit. I’ve tried, I really have. You might as well show him.”

“We’ve been kind to you!” Kili said, and he sounded so young and so hurt that Bilbo flinched. Bard felt even worse for the stone in his bag, because Bilbo had given more than just the pretty stone when he’d handed it to them the night before. He’d given his friendships up, he’d betrayed every single dwarf that he’d obviously adored so much. All to try and save their lives.

“It’s not, it’s not like that Kili. Not the thirty-three days you remember but the days _I_ remember. I’ve been living this single day of anger and war so many times it’s all routine and nothing I do changes it.” Not a single dwarf seemed to understand and even Thranduil looked bewildered. 

For a moment, Thorin’s gold-lust seemed to fade, and he appeared more the stoic, honorable dwarf that Bard had butted heads with in Laketown. Then the glaze upon his eyes returned and Bilbo seemed to see it too, for his face crumpled a little bit more.

Then he straightened his back and rounded his shoulders. “He has the Arkenstone, Thorin, and I gave it to him. So yell at me all you want, banish me, but I’ve got bigger things to do right now, and the first one involves talking with Bard about what we can do next.”

He began to step down the stairs, never noticing the growing rage behind him. Perhaps he didn’t need to, given that he’d seen it so many times. “You…you _thief_!” Thorin bellowed. “Traitor! You rat!”

“Let’s go,” Bilbo said briskly, doing his best to ignore the dwarf king who howled behind him. Thorin threw out the words of banishment as he had before, the same ones that Bard remembered, and Bard finally turned away to join Bilbo on the way out. Thranduil followed, but there were obviously a million questions on the elf king’s tongue.

Bard didn’t care. What he did care about was that he was suddenly now stuck in the same situation as Bilbo, and he was now doomed to repeat the same day again and again with no reprieve. The hobbit had been telling the truth, and only now was Bard realizing the effects of that.

He quickly caught up to Bilbo outside the gates and put his hand on the hobbit’s shoulder. “Tell me everything you know,” he said. “For I have no desire to live this day again and again.” He could break the cycle, he was certain of it. He could free the hobbit, he could protect his people and his city, and they would move on.

Bilbo didn’t look impressed by his determination, but Bard was absolutely certain of his success. Even more so when they found Thorin and his kin exactly where Bilbo had said they would be: at the base of the hill that ran alongside the jagged cliffs and ruins. Thorin had even cleared his mind of the gold-lust, and he’d looked _relieved_ to see the little hobbit. There would be reconciliation. It gave Bard higher hopes, and even Bilbo seemed of good cheer. Yes, he would break the cycle and return them to normalcy.

Which was why, when Thranduil was pulled from his elk and slaughtered, and Bard found himself standing in Erebor again, he resisted the urge to curse a blue streak and instead settled for smacking the elf king in the arm.

~

“Ow!” Thranduil yelled, sounding highly un-royal and very much like a young elfling. Bard was glaring at him something fierce, not even sympathetic to Thranduil’s rubbing of his arm.

Bilbo wanted to bury his head in his hands. Not just the company and Bard, but Thranduil too? Was it going to be _every_ single person that left them returning to this moment again and again? Every person that wasn’t an orc, and Bilbo supposed he ought to be thankful for small miracles.

At least he had Bard with him. At least he no longer had to endure this alone.

“Where’s my armor?”

Bilbo turned to Kili, who was looking down at himself. “I had armor on,” he said slowly. “Where, where is it?”

Bofur ran across to the balcony and peered down. “There’s no army,” he said, stunned. “Where’d they all go?”

Slowly Bilbo moved his gaze over all of them. Oin seemed equally surprised, and Balin was looking around the throne room as if he’d never seen it before. A quick glance at Thranduil showed the elf king looking equally as startled, his hands patting down his chest where the fatal blow had been only moments before.

“You remember?” Bard asked, because Bilbo couldn’t, he _couldn’t_. His voice didn’t seem to work, and his throat was dry. He couldn’t hope. And yet…

“We were in battle a few minutes ago,” Dwalin said. “Aye. And now we’re here, just as we were this mornin’, if that’s what you mean.”

“Is this what you were talking about, Bilbo?” Fili asked. “This, this living of the same day again and again?”

But Bilbo wasn’t listening. Bilbo’s eyes were only on Thorin. For Thorin was staring at the ground, and his fists were clenched in rage.

No. Not rage. _Shame_.

“Thorin?” Bilbo asked tentatively. _Please, Eru, if you’ve damned me to live this day for the rest of my years, please give me this. Please give me my dwarf back._

Thorin didn’t answer, but the guilt on his face only grew. “Thorin, do you remember?” he asked.

Finally Thorin turned his head away. “Do not look upon me,” he rasped. “I know what I did, when I last stood here. My mind is so clear and yet it wasn’t. I…I said…”

Bilbo didn’t care what he’d said. The memory of the dwarf’s rage from yesterdays faded from his mind, and all he knew was that Thorin was there. Thorin was _there_.

He raced across the stone floor and threw himself into Thorin’s side. Thorin flinched but Bilbo wasn’t letting go. “You’re here,” he whispered, and then he let out a laugh that was only a bit manic. “You’re _here_. Thorin, oh _Thorin_ …”

He couldn’t stop himself from saying the dwarf’s name over and over again until Thorin finally put an arm around him. “I’m here,” he whispered, and when Bilbo looked up, Thorin’s eyes were clear, if a little wet. “I’m here, Bilbo.”

“Would someone mind explaining to me just what is going on?” Thranduil snapped. “Not that I mind being saved from a bloody fate, but I stood here just this morning.”

“Yes you did, as did I,” Bard said. “I even still have the Arkenstone in my bag.” He patted the bag on his side.

“Toss it over into the abyss,” Thorin growled. “I want no sight of it.”

Bard, surprisingly, shook his head. “No, O King. For I think you’ll change your mind in time, when you are not so raw of emotions. It is good to see you sound of mind again, however. And I will keep it for you until you ask for it again.”

“My stones,” Thranduil began, but Balin cut him off.

“No offense, your majesty, but I’m thinkin’ we have ourselves a bit of a bigger problem at the moment. Namely the fact that we’ve just started back to where we were this morning. And it sounds as if this has been going on for some time.”

“This is day three for me,” Bard agreed. “But Bilbo is on…day thirty-four?”

“Something like that,” Bilbo muttered. He finally let go of Thorin, his cheeks going warm at the display he must have given everyone. Just because he’d been forced to live the day so many times didn’t mean that everyone else had. And just because he and Thorin had grown close didn’t mean…well. Hopefully everyone would see it as an embrace of friendship and nothing more.

Just because Bilbo felt more than friendship didn’t mean that Thorin did, or would.

No one made any sort of comment, and in fact Thorin kept his arm around Bilbo’s shoulders as they turned to face the others. The heat of his hand left Bilbo feeling more grounded and less out of control. “What, exactly, happened?” Gloin asked.

So Bilbo set about explaining his first month of repeating the same day, over and over. He told them of what he’d discovered, and he’d told them of what he’d learned. It wasn’t much, as far as tactical advantage went, but given that he’d been fighting so hard to keep them all alive for so long, he supposed he could be forgiven.

“Right,” Fili said when he’d finished. “We need to all stay alive, then. That shouldn’t be too hard.”

“You try it,” Bilbo muttered. “See how well you do.”

“And it bears no meaning to anyone outside of this room?” Thranduil inquired. Bilbo shook his head. “Then I’ll ensure that my army keeps me as safe as possible. I will only wade into battle when necessary. That protects one of us.”

“Lovely of you,” Dwalin said under his breath. Bilbo quite understood the sentiment, even if he had watched the elf king get cut down just moments before. That had been hard to watch. No matter his own personal conflicts with the elf, no one deserved a death like that. No one.

“We’ll protect our own,” Thorin told him tersely. “You stay alive, we’ll stay alive.” He paused for a moment. “Bard, do your people need defense?” he asked.

If Bard was surprised by Thorin’s offer, he managed to keep it to himself. “My focus was actually on Bilbo,” he said. “He is the smallest and…well. Up to this point has been starting at a disadvantage, beginning the fight all the way in Dale as opposed to here.”

“No more,” Thorin said firmly. “Bilbo is welcome to stay with us. If he chooses,” he added quietly.

There was nowhere else Bilbo wanted to be. “Oh I’m staying,” he said. “I only left because I had no other choice, and even then you’ll remember that I came to find you in the battle.” Remember. Thorin _remembered_.

It was a lovely feeling. Bilbo had more hope singing in his chest then ever before.

“Right,” said Dwalin. “Let’s get to the finish line of the day, shall we?”

~

They didn’t quite get there on the first run through.

Or the second.

Almost the third, but then the orcs seemed to pop up out of nowhere and Balin fell. Dwalin didn’t take kindly to that.

Fili fell the fourth time and Kili _definitely_ didn’t take kindly to that. Nor did Fili, given the glares he kept making as he rubbed at his completely healed sternum.

“Maybe,” Dori said at last, when he’d taken a brutal blow to the head and they’d all found themselves back in Erebor, “just maybe, this might not be as easy as we’d thought.”

Bilbo just buried his head in his hands.

~

“It’s a matter of strategy,” Kili said one of the days (forty-six, Bilbo thought, but they were all starting to run together, and every time he tried to make a count marker it was gone by the next repeat). “We just need to all strategize and…figure it out. Obviously.”

“Well thank Mahal you’re here,” Nori drawled. “We’d get nowhere if it weren’t for your wisdom.”

Kili glared at him, and thankfully Thorin cut him off before he could launch back some sort of rebuttal. “Enough. This isn’t helping.”

“Maybe if we go out earlier, surprise ‘em,” Bofur offered. “Like they’ve been surprisin’ us. Maybe that’s the trick.”

“Or perhaps they’ll see you coming and cut you down faster,” Thranduil said. He had long given up trying to hold a regal air and was instead tracing the designs on his staff. “Then we can start over even faster.”

“Some actual help in planning might aid as well, as opposed to simple snark,” Bard snapped. The man had seemed to side more with the dwarves with every repeated day, though there’d been a terse exchanging of words once with Thorin that neither had really forgotten (ha, they never forgot now). Suffice to say, Bilbo could easily see the tension between all three of the leaders in the room, and it wasn’t making things better.

“There is nothing simple about me,” Thranduil scoffed. “Including my snark.”

“Maybe one of us is supposed to die,” Fili exclaimed at last. “We just have to do it in a certain place or something. I don’t know!” he said when Thorin pinned him with a look. “Maybe it should be one of us!”

“It’s obviously not,” Dwalin said. “Every one of us has died already, and we always repeat!”

Bilbo paused from where he’d been biting his thumbnail. There was a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach that had been growing for a few days now, and that, unfortunately, never stopped. All his other scratches and battle wounds went away but the feeling in his gut, that one always stayed. Perhaps because he’d woken up in Erebor in much the same way that first day.

He swallowed and lowered his hand. “That’s not true,” he said quietly.

His voice seemed to echo in the room, and he looked about for something, anything, to gaze at so he didn’t have to look at anyone else. “Yes it is,” Bard said when the silence went on. “Bilbo, we’ve all died at least once.”

Bilbo shut his eyes and sighed. “No we haven’t. Not all of us.”

Somehow, he’d managed to escape the jaws of death. Forty something days, and Bilbo had never been cut down, not once. 

Perhaps Fili was right. Perhaps one of them was supposed to die, and the only one who hadn’t so far was…

“No,” Thorin said firmly, and when Bilbo opened his eyes, Thorin was glaring at him. “That’s not an acceptable solution.”

“Acceptable or not doesn’t change if it _is_ the solution,” Bilbo said. 

“You’re not dying!” Kili burst out. “We’ll get through this, all of us!”

Rounds of agreement went up through the room. Even Thranduil seemed to frown, surprisingly, at the thought of Bilbo’s death being their chance to escape their never-ending day. It was touching, as was Bard’s concern, but it didn’t change what probably had to happen.

The sick feeling in his gut only increased.

“Stop!” Bilbo finally shouted. “Stop it, all of you! You’re not making this any easier!”

“Good,” Dwalin said firmly. “You’re not dyin’. No one’s dyin’.”

“If I have to keep you here within Erebor to ensure your safety, I will,” Thorin said. He’d stepped closer to Bilbo, and he almost seemed as if he wanted to reach out and touch him. He hadn’t come anywhere close to Bilbo since that first day of remembering, and Bilbo found himself missing the loss deeply.

Thorin kept his hands by his sides, however, and Bilbo sighed. “All of you are arguing with me and that alone tells me that a part of you knows it to be true. You all _know_ that my death is how we get out of this.”

Silence met his words. He swallowed hard and rubbed his hands on his pants. “Then that’s settled,” he said, trying to make his voice not shake.

“Nothing’s settled,” Bard said. “We do as Kili has suggested: we fight to get us all out of this alive. It is the other option that has never been done, and I feel that it’s the best option we have.”

Oh how he wanted that to be the answer. “Bard-“ he began, but Thorin stepped up to him, and Bilbo sort of forgot how to think when the dwarf he wanted, longed for, was standing so close to him.

Thorin seemed to be considering reaching out for him again, but Bilbo was left disappointed once more. “Please,” he said lowly. “Let us try to have everyone live through the day. Do not sacrifice yourself without us attempting to all live to see tomorrow.”

Bilbo finally nodded, and the relief in Thorin’s eyes was nearly palpable. “We defend ourselves again,” Thorin said, turning to the group at large, and Bilbo tried to make that his focus. Get through the day alive. He could do that. He’d done it so many times now it honestly couldn’t be that hard.

He supposed that was what made it so easy to be trapped by Bolg.

So focused on Kili and Thorin’s safety, he didn’t realize that he’d wandered up onto a rocky hill, all by himself, and when he turned, Bolg was there, and Bilbo was by himself. Pulling out his blade was too slow. Far too slow.

 _They’ll be free,_ he tried to convince himself, and then Bolg ran him through with his blade. It hit the mithril and spared him, but the pain was still so intense that Bilbo let out a scream. He could hear his name being called, shouts of fear, but all he could think of was the blade that was keeping him pinned and the pain, oh Eru the _pain_.

In the few seconds that it took for Bolg to skewer him, it only took another second more for the orc’s spiked club to come down against the side of his head. He could feel his skull cracking apart and open, the pain so incredible that he seemed to leave his body, and then he could feel the blood flooding his face. He couldn’t breathe, would never breathe again.

Then he took in a sharp breath and nearly tumbled to the stones beneath him in Erebor’s throne room. 

Once he drew a breath, it wasn’t enough, he had to take another or he’d be ill. His hands flew to his head and he desperately tried to put his skull back together, but it was all there in one piece. The pain was fading fast, the pain that he’d never known before until death had taken him, and he couldn’t get enough air, he was going to pass out, why couldn’t he breathe?

Something grabbed him and he tried to swing his sword, only to discover his hand was empty. A voice came to him, but he couldn’t understand the words over his own gasps or the horrible ringing in his ears. His hands clung to the being in front of him.

Furs. A hard body, one that he remembered embracing and holding on to so many times over their journey. The smell that was unique to only him.

Thorin.

The dwarf’s voice finally permeated through the ringing that was slowly beginning to fade. “…have to slow down your breathing, Bilbo, _breathe_ -“

Bilbo took a sharp gasp and tried to make his next breath come out slower. His hands were trembling, his entire body was shaking, and his face was wet. He desperately tried to wipe the blood away, but when he looked down at his hand, it wasn’t covered in blood but tears.

All around him was Thorin’s warmth and strength. The dwarf wasn’t hesitating to touch him now, and Bilbo sagged against him. If he thought about it long enough, he could still feel the club colliding with his head, and he shuddered so hard his feet shifted where he stood.

“We don’t do that again,” Dwalin said, his voice rough. Murmurs from the company followed him.

Bilbo looked up and wiped the last of the tears from his eyes. Thranduil and Bard were closer, further up the stairs than they’d ever come before, as if they’d moved up to meet Bilbo. Both looked shaken. “Agreed,” Thranduil said quietly. 

“And now we know,” Fili said. “It’s all of us. Which means-“

“It could be a matter of how many of us,” Thranduil said, though he sounded as if he were trying to be gentle. “It could be the three Kings that are meant to perish in battle.”

Bard pursed his lips but gave a slight nod. “No,” Bilbo whispered. He shook his head and looked up at Thorin. The dwarf said nothing but appeared resigned to the fate. “No, no no. If I can’t die, you can’t either. We, we go with the original thought that we’re all supposed to get through this day.”

“Perhaps the three of us are meant to fall,” Thorin agreed, and Bilbo couldn’t help the horrible sound that came from his throat. Thorin said nothing but his hands tightened against Bilbo’s back. “We will join near the ruins of Dale and attempt to make a last stand together.”

The thought of Thorin dying, of him having to fall, was nearly as painful as Bolg’s club. Bilbo clutched at Thorin and shut his eyes tight. Just another moment. Just one more moment before he had to witness what might be the end of his dwarf.

Perhaps this was how Thorin had felt, thinking that Bilbo’s death would bring an end to this madness.

“We will join you,” Thranduil said, and Bard gave his nod, and that was all there was to it.

~ 

“Well _that_ wasn’t it,” Balin said with a heavy sigh as they started again in Erebor. Bilbo raced over towards Thorin and held him tight, and Thranduil noticed with some bewilderment that Bard was rubbing his…backside?

Bard caught him looking and scowled. “It _hurt,_ ” he complained, much as Legolas had as a young elfling. “You try taking an arrow to the arse and see how you feel.”

“My matter of death was much more dignified than that, at least,” Thranduil said with a sniff. To be fair, a small orc cutting him down by the knees only to stab him from behind wasn’t all that dignified either, but it was better than being shot by a poisoned arrow in such a…delicate place. In spite of himself, Thranduil smiled. 

Bard didn’t appreciate it. One of the dwarves, the bald one marked with ink, met Thranduil’s gaze and gave a begrudging grin of his own. A smaller dwarf, covered with knit everywhere, coughed to cover his own amusement.

Perhaps they weren’t all bad. At the very least, they could keep their amusement to themselves.

“So what now?” the youngest dwarf asked. His dark hair and lack of beard would have left him nearly akin to a man, had he been taller. At least, that was what Thranduil was trying to convince himself of. An elf falling for a man was heard of.

His loyal guard falling for the small Durin’s heir wasn’t exactly in his plans. Then again, if they never left this endless day, it wouldn’t really happen, now would it?

Cheered considerably, Thranduil made his way up the stairs for the second time since this whole debacle had begun. “Perhaps it is a separate combination we need to look for,” he said. “Or perhaps a place we were meant to fall and have yet to reach.”

If the dwarves could not figure it out, Thranduil supposed he could…lend them his intelligence. They were sorely in need of it, and Thranduil would not see the child of Yavanna fall again. Hobbits were not meant to see battle: to see him cut down so brutally had been a blow to Thranduil’s very soul. He hardly knew the being, but Bilbo Baggins had been nothing but determined to see peace brought between them. A peace loving creature did not deserve a death on a battlefield.

Bard followed him up the stairs, and Thranduil watched as the dwarf king separated himself from the hobbit. “Perhaps,” Thorin Oakenshield agreed reluctantly.

Discussing things with an ill-tempered dwarf. What had Thranduil’s life come to?

His only consolation was found in Bard still rubbing his backside.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't tell you how touched I am by all of the comments, the Tumblr messages, the kudos. It means so much to me, especially given that it's been so long since I've actually touched the fandom. It truly means the world to me.
> 
> And I'll be honest, I don't know if I'm going to write any other fanfics. I won't turn any plot bunnies away, but I'm still easing back into things. Things went sideways with the changed future's ending and that's all I'll say on the matter.
> 
> So yes. Given that, please know how much your comments mean to me.
> 
> And for those who don't care about any prior drama (you really shouldn't, drama is best left inside fanfics, not out of them), here's the second half of your fic.
> 
> Also: I am mucking with canon. Canon what canon?

They tried meeting their doom at the gates of Erebor. They tried the east side of the mountain, then the west. They tried up the hill near Dale, they tried inside Dale. They tried closer to the frozen river.

Each and every time one of them was cut down and they would begin again in Erebor. Except, as time went on, Bilbo discovered something very interesting.

Thranduil and Bard no longer stayed on the lower floor of the throne room. Rather, when they all began again in Erebor, they immediately came up the stairs to discuss another idea.

Even more interesting was that the dwarves met them half way with ideas of their own. There was even laughter a few times. Thranduil actually choked out a laugh at something Dwalin said once.

Slowly they began to plan together. Thranduil brought his elves to the battle alongside Thorin and Bard. Bard’s people were always kept safe time and time again, and Bard himself was never without a dwarf or elf. Thorin ensured that some of the company stayed near Thranduil at all times. They were no longer separate entities looking to solve the same problem, but forming truces and even alliances to keep everyone whole and hale so as to see a new dawn.

It was good. It would’ve been even better if Bilbo hadn’t been so protected.

Above everything, all of the others seemed to have decided that Bilbo wasn’t to be left alone for an instant, and for the most part, Bilbo could hardly fault them that. He could still remember what Bolg’s club felt like inside his head. How the others managed to continue living with the remembered pain of being cut down and killed, he didn’t know. It didn’t seem to slow them down in battle, and he was determined to not let his memory slow him down, either. He was going to make his stand like everyone else, and would have, if they’d actually have _let him._  

It didn’t seem to make a difference. All of them kept him as safe as houses, and after what seemed like the hundredth or so day, Bilbo finally let his feeling of being smothered get the better of him.

 ~

“You’re off your rocker.”

“In case you’re not aware, Bofur, I don’t _have_ a rocker. I have this room and I have the battlefield.” 

“You know what he’s talkin’ about!”

Bifur made some sort of comment in Khuzdul that everyone seemed to agree with, which meant Bilbo wasn’t going to like it. “That’s very kind of you,” he said, hoping it was true, “but the truth of the matter is that we keep trying to fight the same battle without actually trying to make it easier on ourselves. Think about it! If we could get behind enemy lines and actually see what we’re up against-“ 

“You are _not_ going down early to see what Azog and Bolg are doing!” Thorin shouted. “It’s out of the question!”

“It’s _my_ question,” Bilbo said, and the phrase didn’t make sense but _still._ The point stood. “And I’ll do with it as I please!”

“He doesn’t want to see you hurt,” Bard said with a sigh. He was seated beside Fili and Nori on the floor, and none of them looked anywhere thrilled with what Bilbo was saying. Nori kept stealing the Arkenstone from Bard’s bag, and Bard was, for the moment, pretending that he didn’t see what he was doing, despite the fact that Nori’d been doing it for the past week or so. “Bilbo, it’s clear that you are dear to everyone here, including myself, and Thorin doesn’t want to see you come to harm.”

“That was delicate,” Dwalin snorted. Bard just threw his hands up in the air and shook his head.

“Delicate?” Bilbo asked, temporarily confused enough to not discuss his leaving Erebor to scout out the orc camps.

Balin cleared his throat. “What my brother meant was-“

“He loves you,” Thranduil said from beside Dori. Somehow the two had bonded, though over what no one knew, and…wait, what?

Bilbo’s eyes flew to Thorin, who was resolutely not looking at him. “How can you be this blind?” Thranduil asked wearily. “How can you honestly not see that Oakenshield pines for you?”

“I do not _pine_ ,” Thorin growled at him, but his cheeks were flushed. He still wouldn’t look at Bilbo.

Bilbo went very still. It was more than he’d ever expected to hear, to even think of. It was clear how he himself felt. He’d cared for a great deal of time, how could he not? He…he loved the dwarf. Thorin had become his friend, his steady ear, and then, somehow, he’d become more.

It was the little things. Thorin’s blue eyes, like a storm when he was angry, like the deepest of ponds when he was happy. His dark hair that Bilbo stupidly loved to touch. The smiles that Bilbo lived for, the gentle touches Thorin had gifted him over their journey, the friendship he’d earned through their travels-

He’d never dared assume that it was more, that he could have truly caught Thorin’s eye and heart. Thorin had certainly never said anything. Then again, he himself had never said a word about it, either.

“Really, Thrandy’s right, how are you that blind?” Dwalin said. Thranduil began sputtering at the nickname, but even he went silent when Bilbo spoke again.

“Because I didn’t dare hope.”

Thorin’s eyes met his at last. They were like a bright sky now, a sweet spring day with the bluest of skies, and Bilbo found he loved this color of blue the most. Because he’d never seen this color before, and here it was, all for him.

His heart twisted in his chest but for all the right reasons. 

Thorin joined him and finally took his hands, though hesitantly. “I have not dared, either,” he admitted quietly. “How could I, when I spoke such words to such a brave and kind being?”

Bilbo shook his head. “We’ve talked about that, Thorin I’ve forgiven-“

“You may have, but I have not,” Thorin said. His fingers ran gently across Bilbo’s and it was damn distracting. “Nor will I until I have seen you safely through this cursed day. Then and only then will I see myself forgiven enough to…to perhaps ask you for something. Like your friendship, your kindness. And…and your heart.”

“You’ve had all that and more for awhile, you outrageous dwarf,” Bilbo choked out. He’d battered it a bit, but the days passed together, fighting side by side on the crags outside Dale’s ruins, standing so close together in Erebor, speaking to one another…Thorin had healed his heart. And left it longing for the dwarf all the more. 

Thorin’s lips turned up, and Bilbo was so distracted by the sight that he nearly missed Thorin’s next words. “Which is why you need to stay here, safe, and not wander off to the orcs.”

“Not happening,” Bilbo said firmly. Thorin’s smile disappeared and he glared at Bilbo, and Bilbo shook his head. “No, absolutely not. Because you’ve just convinced me all the more that I need to know what they’re doing and how they always manage to surprise us in Dale’s ruins.”

“You two are the most ridiculous beings I have ever known,” Thranduil muttered. Bilbo ignored him.

Kili coughed, breaking the tense silence. “Well, now that everyone’s declared their love and gotten angry with each other all over again, I’d like to point out that it’s far too late to go looking for orcs. Which means we probably should get on the field.”

“Come on,” Fili said, hauling Bard to his feet. “I want to see how many I can stick with my sword before they stick me.”

Bilbo pursed his lips. “We’ll get out of this,” Thorin said, turning Bilbo’s attention away from Fili’s macabre sense of humor. He gently pressed his hand to the side of Bilbo’s face, a light caress that made Bilbo want to run with Thorin to somewhere, anywhere but here, and never come out again. Keep his dwarf safe and well and away from the bloodshed. 

He wouldn’t abandon the others, though. There was a chance they could all get out of this alive, and Bilbo wanted to take it.

Which meant scouting for information. And quickly.

And as soon as they reappeared in Erebor again, thanks to Bifur, Bilbo wasted no time in doing just that. He grabbed a rope and descended over the side of the balcony, leaving the others shouting after him. No one shouted as loud as Thorin, however. Or as angrily.

The rope shuddered near the bottom and he dropped the remaining few feet to the earth. Bilbo took off as fast as he could for the crags alongside Dale’s ruins before the others could follow after him. This was always where the orcs appeared. They had to be nearby, they _had_ to be. The dwarves from Dain were over there, and Bilbo could see the elves covering that side of the hills. Yet none of them had raised the battle cry, which meant that they hadn’t seen the orcs. And in order for the orcs to keep attacking them so swiftly, that meant the orcs had to already be there. 

But where?

No one gave him an answer, so he hurried down alongside the rocks, going down and away from where the battle would be. The rocks quickly went well above his head, and he soon found himself almost in trenches. No, there were caves, _caves_ underneath Dale, and it was only when he stepped inside one that he discovered how deep they were. What on earth…?

There. A glint of something in the darkness. _You can’t die, not really_ , he reminded himself, and he set off to follow the thing that shone. What was another death on top of the others. 

The orcs hadn’t been expecting him, that much was clear. He hadn’t honestly been expecting them, either, but there they were, all piled up together. Both sides stared at each other. Bilbo cleared his throat. “Well then,” he said.

The orcs charged him with a range of battle cries, and Bilbo heard Azog’s familiar shout, “Death to the Durins!” one last time before someone caught him about the neck.

Then he was back in Erebor, rubbing his neck ruefully. “That hurt less than I expected,” he said. No one looked amused. Bard was staring at him like he was mad. Probably was, at this point. 

Thundering footfalls were all the warning he got before Thorin was upon him. He didn’t bother putting up a token protest or fight, simply let Thorin grab him by the shoulders and shove him up against the wall. This, this was familiar, but not in the same way it had been for thirty odd days before everyone else had remembered.

This wasn’t Thorin in a gold lust. This was Thorin very, _very_ angry. 

And behind it, Bilbo could so obviously see the fear. 

“I _told_ you,” Thorin growled. “I _told_ you not to-“

“How often have I done what I’m told?” Bilbo asked him. Thorin’s nostrils flared in rage, and Bilbo sighed. “I’m fine. I truly am.” 

Thorin didn’t let him go, and Bilbo suddenly had a fear of his own, that he’d perhaps angered Thorin so much that, perhaps, he wasn’t interested in pursuing whatever this relationship of theirs was with each other. “You’re not…that angry with me, are you?” he couldn’t help but ask. 

Thorin paused, and just like that the anger faded to nothing. “You…you foolish _hobbit_ ,” he muttered. “You went out and died alone and there was nothing I could do because the rope you went over with was too frayed for my weight. I should have done it anyway, I should have perished on the rocks and brought you right back to Erebor.”

“Well that would have been a waste,” Bilbo said, ten types of relieved. Thorin’s hands were gentle on his shoulder now, a caressing touch more than an angered grab, and Bilbo brought his hands up to hold onto Thorin’s elbows. “Especially since I know where they are now.”

Thorin blinked. The entire room seemed devoid of sound, it was so quiet. Thranduil finally raised the question they were all waiting to ask.

“What?”

Bilbo grinned. “I know where they are. Caverns, beneath Dale. I don’t know why there’s caverns beneath Dale but-“

“Warehouses,” Bard supplied, surprisingly. “We carved Dale out from the rocks. We used the natural caverns to store things. I have been down there a time or two myself, to see if there was anything worthwhile left behind to feed our people with. There’s nothing but a few rotted barrels, now. It’s why the Master finally began to trade with Mirkwood.”

“Do you know where the entrances are?” Gloin asked.

Bard’s small, triumphant smile was all Bilbo needed to know. He caught Thorin’s eye, but the dwarf only seemed relieved that Bilbo was there in front of him, and that he was whole. It left Bilbo with a blush that he was quite certain was moving all the way to the tips of his ears, but honestly, when someone looked at you like that, how could you not feel warm all over?

~

Tackling the caverns head on didn’t work. It didn’t matter if it was the elf army, the dwarf army, or just the company – someone always perished.

Azog’s line, “Death to the Durins!” was becoming such a familiar phrase again that Fili and Kili were beginning to mime it with the orc, which had served to be a moment of absolute hilarity for a few days. Then the boys had been taken down, and Bard had thought of his own children being slaughtered on the field of battle, and it hadn’t been as funny anymore.

Still. Fili had a way of mimicking the orc’s scowl that was spot-on.

They fought together tirelessly. Bard was an expert at having Bifur at his back, and Thranduil seemed to have made some sort of pact with Dori, for he was typically seen with the dwarf taking down packs of orcs. The elf army looked bewildered but what did they know? They didn’t understand what was at stake.

Bilbo never left Thorin’s side. Thorin never left Bilbo’s. Yet both always wound up separated, and more often than not, Thorin fell.

It was voiced, finally, on what Bard thought was the one hundred and fiftieth day (starting with Bilbo’s first day as a count). And it was voiced in such a way that Bard felt foolish and horrible for not seeing it before.

“’Death to the Durins’,” Kili mocked. “Mahal I am so _sick_ of that line. Someone take Azog’s head off for me.”

“I tried,” Bofur said. Bifur made some sort of agreeable sound. “We both did. We can’t get anywhere close. In fact, the only one who manages to get close is Thorin.”

“And then Thorin dies,” Balin said. “Aye. We’ve done this already.”

Thorin sat up straight from where he was seated across from Thranduil on the ground. Bilbo, sitting directly beside him, didn’t look happy about the shift. “Thorin?” he asked warily. Perhaps the hobbit knew something they didn’t, if Thranduil’s confused expression was any sign.

“’Death to the Durins’,” Thorin murmured. “Perhaps we have had the answer all along.”

“What do you mean?” Dwalin said. That was a warning tone if ever Bard had heard one.

“We have tried combination after combination,” Thorin said slowly, as if warming to the idea. “Yet the one we have never dared try, for I have refused to let them come to harm, has been-“ 

“No,” Bilbo said resolutely. Thorin glared at him, and Bilbo glared right back. “ _No_. Not happening. No one is dying, we’re all going to get through this together!”

“If there’s a chance that we can escape this day we must take it,” Thorin argued. “And if it means the end of the line of Durin, then so be it!”

“No!” Bilbo shouted, but Fili’s voice came in, soft and yet so full of strength.

“Yes. We should try it. We’ve tried everything else.”

“We haven’t all tried living through-“ Bilbo began, but Thranduil cut him off.

“But we have, little one. We have tried for so many days and yet have gotten nowhere. Perhaps…perhaps Thorin speaks truth. Perhaps the line of Durin was meant to perish here in Erebor.” 

Bilbo turned to Bard, his eyes appealing with him to say _something_ , but Bard could not give him any words. It was, perhaps, the only part of the day that had been the same throughout all others. Azog’s cry seemed to always ring out over the battlefield.

“Lord Elrond warned me that this journey would end in folly,” Thorin said. “And it is only now that I believe him.”

Balin suddenly stood up straighter with a narrow gaze aimed straight at the hobbit. “Bilbo, we’ve never asked, I realize: how did the first day end? Before it repeated. Can you remember, so long ago?” 

One look at Bilbo’s face said that yes, he did remember, and he’d much rather that he didn’t. “Tell us,” Thorin said.

It wasn’t until the dwarf king rested his hand on Bilbo’s shoulder that Bilbo finally spoke. “Fili and Kili…you were on the large hill, charging Azog. Fili and Kili were racing to defend you, and all I could think was…was that…” He shook his head. “No. I refuse to believe that this is how it’s supposed to end. We’re all going to make it to tomorrow.” 

No one said a thing. Fili and Kili stood closer together than ever, but both also seemed resolute in their parts. “Perhaps there’s been something good about all of these days and deaths,” Kili said. “I don’t fear death anymore. And if I fall defending my uncle, well. That’s a permanent death I can live with.”

“If it’s a permanent death you don’t live, Kee.”

“I _know_ that, Fee. It’s an expression.” 

Bilbo didn’t look as inclined to live with it as the young Durin dwarves were. In fact, Bilbo looked absolutely resolved to make certain that such a thing never happened. 

“It’s worth a try,” Dwalin said. He didn’t sound happy about it – none of them were happy about it, how could they be? – but the more Bard thought about it, the more it made sense.

Perhaps…perhaps this was how it was supposed to happen.

“Only one way to find out,” Ori said quietly. 

~

The battlefield seemed worse, for some reason. Bilbo could hardly see through the lines of orcs, and he’d lost sight of Thorin too soon. Fili and Kili had promised him that they’d stay close, but they’d hurried off not too long ago, and now Bilbo didn’t know where they’d gone. Another orc came at him, and he killed it without too much thought.

“Where are they?” he shouted at Dwalin who was nearby.

Dwalin swept his warhammer above him and took out two orcs in one go. “No clue,” he said tersely. “Lost sight of ‘im when he took off-“

“There!” Bard shouted from behind them, and Bilbo turned to the hill. Of course it was the hill, how could it be anywhere else?

Fili and Kili were standing strong against the onslaught, but they weren’t quite up to the top of the hill yet. No, the top was being held by Thorin and Azog, both of them in combat that was getting very bloody. No mortal blow from either side – at least, not yet.

“Uncle!” Fili screamed, but the warning came too late. Azog, who’d been shoved away, suddenly came back too fast for Thorin to block, and Thorin landed on the ground hard. Azog’s blade came up, and Bilbo knew what was going to happen.

The terror that it would be Thorin’s last day left him paralyzed for a moment, and through the mess of the battlefield, his eyes met Thorin’s. The blade came down and pierced through Thorin’s armor, and blood went flying everywhere.

“Uncle _no_!” Kili shouted in fear. Thorin’s eyes were still open but they were fading, the life draining, and Bilbo wasn’t being pulled back to Erebor, oh Eru, this was going to be it, and he couldn’t. He couldn’t get out of the day only to lose Thorin.

He didn’t even think, he simply swung Sting around until the tip was against his chest. The mithril, he wasn’t going to get through the mithril, and he quickly brought the tip up against the top of his breastbone. There was no hesitation.

“NO!” Thorin screamed, and it echoed through Erebor’s throne room. Bilbo rubbed at the top of his breastbone – solid and not a scratch on it – and heaved a sigh of relief.

Thorin was safe. Alive and well. That was all he cared about.

“What did you _do_ laddie?!” Balin shouted.

Thorin stared at him. “We had our chance,” Thorin told him, his voice rising with every word. “We could have been free, _you_ could have been free, and you ruined it! You took a blade to your own heart-!”

“I don’t care!” Bilbo shouted. “I don’t care! Do you know why I don’t care? Because you’re alive! How am I supposed to care when you’re still alive?!” 

“It has to be done!”

“No it _doesn’t_ , why won’t you listen?”

“ _Listen_? I am not the one with ears that refuse to hear truth!”

“I’m not letting you die!”

“ _Enough_ ,” Thranduil said, his voice deep and somehow enough to fill the entire throne room. Bilbo gasped, his chest heaving with his anger. Thorin was glaring at him as if he could set Bilbo aflame with his very gaze, hands clenching as if wishing to strangle him, and didn’t he understand that Bilbo was trying to save him? Didn’t he understand that Bilbo was trying to save his sister-sons, his company, all of them?

It was as if the other days hadn’t even happened, and they were back to where they’d started: Bilbo doing what he had to in order to save Thorin’s life, and Thorin ready to throw him from the ramparts. 

Thranduil cleared his throat. “Is there somewhere else that we may retire to, Balin? Somewhere that we may leave them in peace?” 

“Aye,” Balin said. “I think that’s wise.”

The company filed out, one by one, until only Bilbo and Thorin remained. Thorin still looked as furious as before, and Bilbo still couldn’t get his breathing to settle.

“Thorin,” he began, trying to sound as angry as he felt, but all that came out was a gasped breath that sounded more like a sob. 

In a second Thorin was on him, hands gripping his shoulders so tight there would be bruises, and then he was kissing Bilbo within an inch of his life. His lips were being crushed under Thorin’s assault but he didn’t care, because every nerve in his body was singing, and all he could feel was his own heartbeat rushing through his ears. He desperately grasped at Thorin until he could feel the dwarf’s own heart pounding beneath his hand. Alive. Thorin was alive. 

Slowly the kiss faded from a fiery tempest to a tender touch, the gentlest Bilbo had ever been kissed before. He tasted salt and didn’t know whether it was Thorin’s tears or his. It didn’t matter. What mattered was the press of Thorin’s lips against his, how one kiss wasn’t good enough, two wouldn’t do, and three only left him needing another, another, another.

Thorin’s hands were wrapped around his arms, a strong and stalwart shield as he’d been for the entire journey. Bilbo let out a sigh and brushed his nose against Thorin’s.

“Please don’t do this,” Bilbo whispered. Thorin’s eyes were indeed as full of tears as Bilbo’s, but Thorin paid his own grief no heed. His thumb came up and brushed tears from Bilbo’s cheeks so tenderly that it only made more fall. “Please, Thorin, _please_. Losing you-“ 

“If it must be done, then it will be done,” Thorin said quietly. “This day cannot continue. We have spent days trapped here, all of us, and though they have not spoken it, I know that Bard and Thranduil both miss their loved ones. Bard has children whom he has not seen for over a hundred days, and Thranduil has a son. We cannot continue like this, Bilbo. You know this.”

“I don’t care,” he said. “I’m too selfish. I won’t let you go.”

Thorin bowed his head. “Bilbo-“

“I gave you my heart,” Bilbo pleaded. “I gave it to you and you’re going to break it.”

Thorin’s eyes filled once more. “Would that I could save you from that pain,” he murmured. “For I swore to myself I’d never cause you such pain again. But I fear I will have to, one last time.”

It wouldn’t be one last time. It would be for the rest of Bilbo’s life, feeling the pain of two young dwarves cut down too soon, and the loss of the only one who’d taken Bilbo’s heart and given his own in return. 

Bilbo took a shuddering breath in. “I will defend you with everything I have,” he finally said. “You can’t take that from me.”

“I won’t,” Thorin said, and he glared at Bilbo again. “But you must swear to never, _ever_ , turn a blade to yourself again. Never again. Swear to me.”

Bilbo shut his eyes. “Please,” Thorin begged, his ferocity gone, and Bilbo bit his lip.

“I swear.”

Thorin didn’t make any triumphant crowing over his victory. He simply stood there, his head resting against Bilbo’s, and they stayed together until the others returned and called them to the battlefield. 

It was time.

~

The battle went just as Bilbo had felt it would. Orcs fell, and the elf army was ready for them, aimed as they were at the caverns. Azog still got out, however. So did Bolg. 

Azog stood, waiting for Thorin, and Thorin wasted no time in racing to meet him. They fought side by side on the top of the hill, trading blows, and this time, Thorin didn’t let Azog’s speed get the better of him. In that regard, Bilbo had made a difference. He wanted to make even more of one.

But he couldn’t stand against Azog without being cut down. It was impossible. No, the only two who could help were too busy fighting the average rabble of orcs. 

“Go!” Bilbo shouted, taking one of the orcs down. Fili and Kili hurried up the hill to join their uncle. Bofur joined Bilbo, and then Bard was there, taking down even more orcs, and Bilbo realized that even though they’d all agreed to let the Durins fall, they weren’t giving up that easily. Hope rose tentatively inside of him.

They’d never disproven the theory that if all of them lived, they would break the cycle and see tomorrow. Perhaps it could still be done. 

A cry from up the hill made Bilbo turn, and it was only Bard’s swift move that kept Bilbo from being cut down. Bilbo didn’t care, he didn’t, because up on the hill- 

“ _Kee!_ ” Fili screamed, and Kili tumbled down the hill under Bolg’s club. He didn’t get up again.

The day kept going.

For all of his strength, for all that he’d fought orcs, Bilbo found that he couldn’t lift Sting again. Time seemed to slow as he watched Fili rage against the orc, hacking at Bolg and driving him away from Thorin and Azog. Thorin, in turn, seemed to have gained a new strength from his grief, and he landed heavy blows against the pale orc.

A loud sound caught Bilbo’s attention, and there was Dwalin, charging through with a loud yell. “Hurry!” he shouted, and Bilbo wasted no time in racing up the hill. Dwalin would help hold the line.

Bilbo didn’t care if he himself died. He didn’t care if Azog skewered him. This was more important, this was-

Fili crumpled to the ground and didn’t move. Each second after that seemed to only amplify Bilbo’s racing heart in his head.

Thorin gave a roar and slashed at Azog. The next thing Bilbo knew, both of them had tumbled over the other side of the hill and disappeared. 

Bolg rounded on Bilbo, the last being there for him to kill. The memory of his club against Bilbo’s skull came back in frightening details, but Bilbo swung his blade up and refused to move. If he wanted to find Thorin, he had to get past Bolg.

Suddenly Bolg fell, a large arrow through his neck. Bilbo swung around and found Thranduil on his elk, bow stretched back. Beside him on the ground stood his son and Tauriel, the elf Kili had fallen for.

All three hurried up the hill along with the dwarves, now that the orcs had been dealt with. Tauriel gave a soft sound of pain as she knelt next to Kili’s body.

Body. That was all that was left was a body. They weren’t coming back, they weren’t going to live again. There was no repeating the day to try again. This was…this was it.

Bilbo choked back a sob and moved to Fili. He’d never had to see the remains of the dead before. They’d always returned to Erebor. They’d never had to live with the repercussions.

Fili was covered in blood and looked so pale and so still that he could barely stomach it. He brushed a trembling hand over Fili’s chest where the gaping wound was. Gone. Both of them gone. 

And the day went on.

Something moved beneath his hand. Bilbo shot backwards, then immediately moved forward. It couldn’t be. It _couldn’t_.

Fili was breathing.

“Thranduil!” he screamed. The elf king hurried to his side and immediately saw what Bilbo had discovered.

“He lives!” Tauriel cried next to Kili, and Bilbo couldn’t believe it. They weren’t dead. Fili and Kili weren’t dead, they were _alive-_

Thorin. Oh Eru, _Thorin._

“Get them off the field,” Thranduil ordered. “Legolas, bring them to my elk. Dwalin, where are Dain’s camps?”

“Don’t know. If you can save ‘em, take ‘em,” Dwalin said.

Thranduil nodded once. “Bard, your aid.” Then, without looking at Bilbo, he said, “Child of Yavanna, you have this one last chance to save your king. He fears his heirs dead. If we are to leave this day, we all need to live. _Go_.” 

Bilbo ran. He tore down the hill and ran around to the other side. The backside of the hill tumbled down towards the caverns, but it also headed towards the frozen river. And that was where the blood trail looked to be going. 

He ran as fast as his legs would allow him to go. If he failed now, if Thorin died and the day continued-

No. Bilbo was going to make it, and Thorin was going to live. Fili and Kili would live, and they were all going to _live_.

He rounded the corner and froze. Out on the frozen lake, Azog had Thorin pinned to the ground in much the same way he had yesterday, but Thorin was holding him back. Only just. His arms were shaking, and the look on his face spoke to his grief. 

“Thorin!” Bilbo screamed at the top of his lungs. Neither figure moved, but Bilbo knew they’d both heard him. Thorin had heard him. “ _Thorin_! They’re not dead! Fili and Kili _live_!”

Azog turned at this, dark eyes fixed on Bilbo with such hatred that he took a step backward. He snarled something in a language Bilbo had only ever heard from him, and it didn’t sound good.

It was all Thorin needed. With a roar he pushed Azog off and then swung his arms around his head. Azog stared, stunned.

Then his head toppled to the ground, and his body went the other way.

Azog was dead. Bolg was dead. They’d done it, they’d _done it_. Bilbo let out a laugh that couldn’t be contained, and Eru above he was going to start crying like a faunt-

Thorin wasn’t moving.

Later, he’d remember how he got down to the frozen lake and found Thorin already so badly injured. He’d remember how he’d called for help, how Dain and Bard and the others had taken Thorin off the ice to the healing tents.

The only thing he’d focused on at the time, however, was seeing Thorin’s beautiful blue eyes close and not open again.

When he did come back to himself and remember all of those things, he was seated outside a tent with something heavy thrown over him. In front of him, Ori was kneeling and trying to catch his attention.

Ori beamed when Bilbo looked at him. “Oh good, you’re alert! We’ve been so worried.” 

“Thorin,” Bilbo whispered, and his voice felt shredded. “Thorin?”

Ori’s face fell. Bilbo found his eyes filling with tears. He couldn’t be. No, it, it couldn’t-

“While you are a wondrous knitter, young Ori, you are dreadful about news,” Thranduil’s voice cut in. “Dori wants you to help with Fili.”

Ori hurried off, and the elf king sat beside Bilbo. With a sigh Thranduil readjusted the blanket around Bilbo’s shoulders. “He lives,” he said quietly. “For now. All of them live, but it has been a fight to keep them.”

Bilbo fought to find his voice. “The others are all right? You?” 

Thranduil actually smiled. “I am well. Thank you. The others are well, too.” 

Footsteps heralded Bard’s approach. “Ori mentioned that you were alert once more,” Bard said. “You do seem more with it than before. I carried you back, for you couldn’t walk.”

Bilbo felt his face flush. “I’m sorry, Bard-“

“You owe me no apologies,” Bard said. “I’m merely glad that I had something to do.”

It wasn’t until the light started hurting Bilbo’s eyes that he realized how dark it had been. “Someone tell the sun to go away,” he muttered, then froze. The sun.

Dawn.

Slowly Thranduil sat upright. Bard seemed made of stone, he went so still. Across the camp, the company, too, stopped and stared.

It was a new dawn, and a new day. They’d made it. They’d all made it.

Yet they’d all survived to perhaps lose the line of Durin on a fresh day they’d never seen before.

Bilbo buried his head in his hands and wept.

~ 

It was three days later (three glorious days that hadn’t been the same at all) that Kili opened his eyes, looked at Tauriel, and said rather groggily, “Will you marry me?" 

Thranduil had turned and stormed off, muttering about how he couldn’t go back and undo hearing that. Tauriel’s smile had been something to behold until Kili had turned to Legolas, who’d also been at his side, and asked the same question.

Thankfully Thranduil hadn’t been around to hear _that_.

Fili woke next on the fourth day, and Kili had been overjoyed. Bard had watched the two meet again, and he’d tugged his children closer to him. Sigrid looked as if she’d understood, but Tilda had just crossed her arms and sighed the sigh of the weary child. He thought he’d had more time before her between years had hit. Apparently not. _Children_ , he’d thought, and he’d shared a weary and knowing look with both Dori and Thranduil.

Thorin had lain in silence and sleep for nearly a week. Bilbo hadn’t been moved from his side except to see Fili and Kili, and then he’d returned to Thorin’s tent. Not even Oin could remove him, and Dwalin had outright refused to do so. Thranduil, surprisingly, had taken Dwalin’s side in leaving Bilbo alone, and Dwalin had been chuffed before he’d become suspicious. Thranduil had merely grinned, as if upsetting Dwalin had been the whole point, and honestly, it very well might have been. 

But when Thorin awoke, no one had honestly known. Not until Bofur had wandered into the tent, trying to coax Bilbo out again, and had quickly returned to the others with a dopey grin and red cheeks.

“What’s the matter?” Bard asked immediately. Bombur looked up from the stew he’d been making, took one look at Bofur, then shook his head. Apparently it was no cause for concern as far as he could tell, but that didn’t explain Bofur’s speedy return.

“Is Bilbo all right?” Kili asked, out of bed for the first time. Tauriel and Legolas, hilariously enough, were standing by his side as if they were his bodyguards. Thranduil seemed to be doing his best to ignore the entire thing. “Bofur, what’s happened? It’s not…not…" 

“Oh, they’re fine,” Bofur said, and then he winked. “Honestly, I’d have thought of other things ‘sides fusin’ lips to do when I woke up from bein’ nearly dead but…well. Actually, I’d probably still be doin’ what they’re doin’.” 

The cheer that rang through the company was contagious, and soon the entire camp was full of shouts of joy. Bard quietly moved over to Thorin’s tent and peered inside.

Bofur may have lacked poetry, but he hadn’t lacked truth, for both Bilbo and Thorin were indeed kissing as if the world would end if they didn’t. Then Bilbo giggled, joy refusing to be contained, and it was the first time Bard actually saw Thorin truly smile. 

He left the tent, never having been noticed. The others would descend upon them sooner than not, and they deserved their moment.

He had a bag of coins waiting for him from Thranduil, anyway. For as blind as they’d been before, Bard had had a feeling that they’d act on their newly discovered love sooner rather than later, and the elf king had been foolish enough to set a wager.

Grinning to himself, he headed back to his children and the company.

~

The first time it happened, it was like a dream. He wept, and so did Thorin. 

The second time it happened, Bilbo still felt as if it couldn’t be true, and he kept changing things up just to see if he was really living it. A touch here, a caress there, a gentle brush of their noses. 

The third time it happened, he realized that whether he was truly mad didn’t matter or not. What mattered was Thorin’s very alive lips on his, Thorin’s arms holding him, Thorin smiling with his eyes of blue.

The fourth time it happened, they were with the entire company, and more besides. Legolas and Tauriel had been beside Kili and Fili (and hadn’t that been the best story Bilbo could’ve told the newly awakened King of Erebor), Thranduil had joined them, and Bard had been there with his children. It was a small celebration in Erebor’s throne room, and their gathering had been merry and full of cheer. 

Thorin, Thranduil, and Bard had signed their treaties declaring each to be in allegiance with one another. Ori was calling it the Treaty of Five Armies or some such nonsense, since five armies had brought them to this point. Bilbo personally thought it ought to be called 150 Endless Days, but that sounded like one of those flowery summer romances that his cousin Esmeralda was so fond of reading.

Gold and stones had been exchanged, and Bard had nearly forgotten to return the Arkenstone. Thorin had handed it to Fili who’d handed it to Gloin who’d taken it down to the treasury, and Bilbo had a feeling it had been tossed inside without a care. They’d deal with it later. 

A strong presence came up from behind him, and Bilbo sighed and leaned back into it. “Thranduil and Dori still seem the best of friends,” Thorin said. “I still don’t understand it.”

“I don’t either. If they’re happy, however, that’s all I care about.” All of them happy, all of them alive.

Thorin rested a hand against Bilbo’s hip. “I wanted to speak to you,” Thorin murmured. “About…about what we spoke about here, in this room, so many days ago. I promised you that I would ask for your heart when I had forgiven myself.”

Bilbo could feel his heart in his ears again. “And?” he asked.

“…I’m asking, I suppose. If you are still willing to stay here, with me, and exchange hearts with one another.”

It took some doing, since Thorin didn’t seem keen on letting him go, before Bilbo managed to turn himself around in Thorin’s grasp. “And I told you that you already had my heart,” Bilbo murmured. “It’s yours, every beat.”

Thorin smiled so brightly that his eyes shone like bright skies again, and then he dipped his head. Bilbo met his parted lips with a sigh. Fourth, this was their fourth kiss. He was going to lose track.

He was looking forward to it.

The fourth time he kissed Thorin, listening to Bard scold Fili and hearing Thranduil laugh at something Dwalin had said, thinking about the many new days ahead of them, he acknowledged that maybe, just maybe, it might not be that easy to rule a kingdom and keep the heart of a dwarf. 

He’d made it through more difficult things. Sharing a mountain with his very alive dwarf, their very alive company, and their very alive allies... He could handle that.

 

_Fin_

 


End file.
